


The Fast Grief Of A Brief Love Affair

by spindlekiss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Partners, Draco Malfoys Hypocritical Persnickety Standards, Humour, Jealousy, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Romance, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 00:03:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6881065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spindlekiss/pseuds/spindlekiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe it's immature, but Draco is quite sure that the new transfer is the most nefarious rogue he has ever come across. </p><p>Lucky for everyone, Draco is a highly skilled investigator, and there will be no improper Potter defiling taking place within this story whatsoever. </p><p>Maybe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fast Grief Of A Brief Love Affair

The Fast Grief Of A Brief Love Affair  


 

“It’s frightfully horrid.” said Draco.

“What is?” asked Potter, handing him his morning coffee, plonking his arse down on his chair and then swiveling around to face Draco.

“Well, most things. But in this case? The heart-ache.” Draco replied, systematically pouring another three sugar cachets into his cup.

Potter frowned at him. “I thought you didn’t even like Enrique? I thought it was, and I’m para-phrasing here, only a brief affair?”

“Oh, Potter. Sweet, innocent, infant of the spring, Potter. You know nothing.”

“And you are... patronising,” Harry said looking both amused and resigned. “Just for something different.”

“Oh, don’t mock me. I’m grieving.” said Draco.

“Yes, well.” replied Potter, sounding quite unimpressed. “Do stop for a moment, we actually have important things to discuss.”

“Enrique was important.” Draco argued mournfully, resting his chin in his palm.

Potter, with the look of someone sucking on a lemon, glowered at him. “Tell someone who cares. Now, did you get around to speaking with Mrs Boggin about the disappearing shoes?”

Draco shook his head. That shoe case was the single most uninteresting thing that had ever had the dishonour of landing in their case file. He scoffed. 

“You know they’re probably hidden in the back of her odd, frilly, old, gross, lavender scented wardrobe. Are you coming to the Abbott’s tonight?” 

“Any more superfluous adjectives you’d like to add?” asked Potter, the smart arse.

“Superfluous, nice.” Draco said appreciatively.

“I thought so.” agreed Potter, grinning. He checked his watch then. “We should head out, civilians to interrogate and such.”

Draco nodded, and pulled his cloak from the hook. 

“No shoe thieving cads shall walk free. Not with The Great Saviour and His Speccy Sidekick.”

“Why do I always have to be the sidekick?” Draco heard Potter mutter.

“Because Potter. I’m rather more dashing.” He replied.

And then they left to fight evil.

 

The interviews went well, and finally, after whole minutes of investigation, they found a lead. Potter, with his stupid, speccy eyes had somehow managed to spot an empty vial of Remember-Me-Well that had rolled beneath Mrs Boggin’s table. 

Apparently she’d been medicated for severe cases of memory loss, but after she had finished her prescription she hadn’t been able to remember that she needed a new one, or for that matter, where any of her shoes were. 

The former had prevented her from locating the mischievous footwear, and the latter had prevented her from going outside. It was a vicious cycle. 

Justice restored, Draco decided that a rewarding bath was in order. He returned to his pent-house and filled the tub to brim, making sure to pour in some of his most luxurious, coco-scented gel early enough that it would bubble.

He slipped out of his robes and tested the water with a tentative hand. Perfectly warm. Not a degree over. 

Sliding fully into the old claw-foot, Draco couldn’t help but think how nice it would have been to enjoy the space with a lover. Enrique had never cared to bathe with him, Enrique had not even been open to the no-doubt-delightful benefits of shower-sex, so opposed was he to sharing a bathroom.

Jason, whom he had dated briefly before Enrique, had understood the benefits, but had not entertained Draco long enough that Draco had been inclined to share them.

Jason was amongst good company in this regard. Like him, there had been Benny The Muggle (a most regrettable mistake made in the peak of Draco’s experimental-rebellious phase), Eduardo (Draco liked them foreign, and pliant, and dumb), George (There wasn’t all that much to say about George, other than he had a cock like a hippogry- anyway), Preston (A pretentious snob, of the worst kind), Benson (Far too similar to Preston for Draco’s peace of mind), Ernie (Everything he would have expected from a hufflepuff and less), plus a few others who didn’t even deserve honourable mentions.

“I’m not that bad, I’m just...”

“The term you’re looking for is man-whore, darling.” Pansy had cackled one evening.

“No!” Draco had exclaimed. “That’s not what I am, I’m just... easily bored.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “I’m not trying to insult you dear, but the proof,” she said, looking pointedly at the beautiful male odalisque, reclined, unconscious, on his chaise. “Is in the pudding.”

“Shut it.”

Draco sighed, sinking further into the water. He couldn’t help it if he enjoyed his men. And certainly no one could blame him for having acquired an expensive taste for the best and most varied array of them. After all, connoisseurs of the masculine form were born, not made. 

 

He woke, with a cough, to the sound of his own death. 

I’m drowning in my own bath tub, he thought desperately, how utterly humiliating. He came to his senses at the thought of what the Prophet might run in the next days paper, and abruptly pushed himself into a sitting position. 

He spluttered for a moment, before remembering his dignity.

“Tempus.” he said. 

Merlin’s star-spangled under-things, he was running late. 

Not such a disaster as it could have been really, after all, he often got dressed on time and then lounged about the house until he could arrive at functions fashionably. 

He dried himself off with a quick charm and surveyed his wardrobe, luckily he had spent a good deal of his lunch-break with half his mind on his outfit and it didn’t take long for him to spy and don the fitted charcoal trousers and severe black cloak he liked to wear on such occasions as pub nights. 

It fitted his shoulders nicely, tapered down to his waist handsomely, and cut off mid-thigh, classily. All the boys adored it, devotedly.

“Lovegood.” said Draco upon arriving at Abbott’s. “How’s tricks?” 

She smiled up at him. “Tricks? Wonderful, wonderful.”

“That’s nice.” he replied. 

Lovegood had to be the most unconventional auror he had ever encountered, if asked, Draco might have said that her personality was far more suited to quirky explorer or dreamy diviner or even waifish model, instead she had one of the best cold-case records and the whole thing was baffling to him. 

“Harry is over there.” she said.

“Err.” said Draco. “That’s just spiffing. But, I wasn’t looking for him.”

“I know.” replied Luna pleasantly, her eyes went wide and unseeing. “It is easy to find things when we stop looking for them.”

“Right.” agreed Draco, slightly unnerved. He had come to appreciate Luna’s charms, but he did prefer them in small doses. “I’m just going to do a thing... somewhere else.”

She nodded placidly, and Draco approached the bar. 

“Abbott.” he greeted with a nod. 

“Dragon’s breathe No.2?” she said, leaning over the bar conspiratorially.

“Do you even have to ask?”

She smiled, and her cheeks dimpled rosily. Draco felt Longbottom’s ire dial up a notch all the way from the other side of the room. 

“You play a long game, Abbott.” he said.

“I play to win.” she corrected. “Although I’d prefer to be playing team sports.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t we all.”

She poured him his usual drink, and Draco watched as the fluorescent pink smoke rose from the top of the glass.

“Nice,” he said appreciatively. “And Abbott, I think this is the kind of game that requires you to make the first move.” He peered over at Longbottom, who was glowering into his cups. “Pronto.”

“You’re hardly one to lecture about first moves, Malfoy.” she muttered. 

Draco took one graceful gulp of his Dragon’s Breathe, stood, and ignored her.

 

“Draco!” said Potter. 

“How many has he had?” Draco asked Weasel.

The Weasel rolled his eyes. “A few I imagine. Why?”

“I can tell is all. He never sounds that excited to see me.”

The Weasel rolled his eyes and muttered something incomprehensible. Draco didn’t care. 

“I’m sitting down.” he said, tapping Potter on the shoulder and squeezing in next to him.

“Oh, go right ahead, Malfoy. Won’t you please.” replied Weasel saccharinely.

“Sarcasm,” Draco snarked. “Is the very lowest form of wit.”

“I suppose that’s why you use it so often.” replied the Weasel.

“I’m tired.” said Potter.

Weasel turned to face his friend, looking concerned. “Teddy keeping you up again?” 

“Mmm,” mumbled Potter. “Andromeda isn’t coming back for another three weeks, and I think he’s got flu or something.” 

A conversation ensued, the points of which revolved around Teddy and did not concern Draco. Draco did not like children. Particularly children who spent half their time with Potter and made fun of Draco’s pointy chin whenever he came by.

“He can’t help it.” Potter had said when it had first happened.

Draco had looked down at the infant and it’s mockingly sharp chin in disbelief. He had never forgiven it.

“Who’s that?” Draco said suddenly, spying a stranger in auror robes.

“Oh, him? Transfer.” replied Weasel absent-mindedly. 

Yummy, thought Draco. The mystery man was tall and had curly, golden hair and sun kissed skin. He looked like the type of person who chopped wood without a shirt on in his spare time. 

“Where’s he from?” Draco asked, most british men were pale and not half as... sunny. 

“Australia.” replied Weasel. 

“I’ve got to give him the tour.” said Potter with some distaste. “And Shacklebolt wants me to show him the ropes. Because I’m responsible.”

The last bit was spoken bitterly, and Draco was forced to wonder what had crawled up Potter’s arse and died.

“Oh, Merlin.” Weasel muttered. “He’s coming over here.”

“Don’t sound so dour.” Draco hissed, sitting up straighter. “He won’t feel welcome.”

“I’m sure you’ll make him feel plenty welcome.” Weasel said.

“Don’t cast aspersions, it’s ungentlemanly.”

“Both of you, shut it.” snapped Potter.

“Hullo.” said the stranger with an easy grin.

“Hullo,” replied Potter, in a rather more polite tone than he had been using before. “Adam, is it?”

Adam nodded. 

“I’m Harry, I’ll be showing you around.” he said, proffering a hand.

Adam took and shook it heartily, grinning toothily all the while. 

“I’m Ron, Ron Weasley.” introduced Weasel. 

Adam grinned at him.

“And I’m Draco Malfoy,” said Draco. “The brains behind this operation.”

“Nice to meet you all,” replied Adam. “Can anyone tell me how to get a decent drink around here?”

“Malfoy wouldn’t know.” said Weasel.

“And Weasel wouldn’t recognise a decent drink if the bottle was rammed down his throat.” 

“I’ll show you around.” offered Harry kindly.

“Great.” said Adam.

Draco scowled, but Harry was already shuffling past him. 

They left, and Draco glared at Weasel. 

“Oh good. You’ve scared him away already.” 

Weasel snorted. “Please, if anything scared him away it was you making your sex eyes at him.”

“Was not.”

“Was too.”

“Hardly my type, Weasel. I prefer my men more... well, more. Being handsome isn’t enough.”

“Strong words from someone whose last boyfriend didn’t have two brain cells to rub together.” 

“Yes, well.” Draco sniffed, swirling his drink with the straw. “Enrique was a lover, not an intellectual.”

Draco looked over at the bar for a moment, Potter was buying Adam a drink, and laughing. 

Adam thought he was a funny man then. Well, Draco didn’t know quite how to feel about that. 

“I’m going to head off.” Draco said, thinking about some of the bars he hadn’t been to in a while. “Go home, get some sleep.”

Weasel snorted.

“Get real, Malfoy. You talk such crap that even the flies aren’t interested.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Cheers, Weasel.” he said, slamming his glass down on the table and standing. “And thanks for getting the bill.”

“Oii,” Weasel spluttered. “I’ll have you know tha-”

Draco sauntered away. He rather thought that the Sparkling Potion would be host to the type of entertainment he preferred, and Potter seemed to be in good hands.

Draco left the bar then, and pretended that didn’t unsettle him. 

 

“-would you believe it, Draco?” Potter laughed.

“It’s completely beyond belief.” replied Draco dryly. 

“Adam was so friendly, and Merlin, normal. Nothing like the trainees, just, well, a decent sort of bloke. Mellow.”

“Fascinating. Don’t you think we should be focusing on this case?” Draco said, gesturing down at some of the more tedious parchment work they had accumulated. 

“Pull the other one, you never want to do office work. Anyway, I really think you’d like him, you should’ve stayed you know, I went looking for you but Ron said you’d gone, and then Adam said-” 

“Quite.” scowled Draco. “I’m sure it was quite interesting. But for now, we have work.”

Potter wheeled his chair over to Draco’s desk. “Well, actually. Kingsley wanted me to take Adam to see how some of our safe-houses operate, so I’ll be out of office in...” he looked at his watch. “... around ten minutes, Adam should be down here any moment.”

Draco clicked his pen. 

“I wish you wouldn’t do that.” said Potter. “Drives me barmy.” 

“You drive me barmy.” Draco snapped. 

Potter rolled his eyes. “I bought you coffee, don’t pout please.”

Draco did take the coffee that was on offer, but he did so crossly. “You owe me for this, Potter. You’re doing all of the parchment work for the next one.”

“Trust me,” said Potter. “I wouldn’t be leaving you with it if Kingsley hadn’t wanted me to. Merlin knows I don’t need administration breathing down my neck about your crap-house hand-writing-”

“It’s an elegant scrawl.” Draco interrupted. 

“Incomprehensible more like. Gods, if I hadn’t seen it for myself I’d have taken you for the exact type of toff to have a frilly, cursive script and whatnot, but no, instead-”

“I’m my Mothers deepest shame. I know, Potter. Off with you now, Australia is waiting.”

And indeed, Adam was waiting at the door looking uncertain. 

“Adam! You can come in.” Harry said genially. “You’ve met Draco, of course?” 

“Briefly.” Adam nodded, smiling at him. 

Did he ever stop smiling? Gods, Draco had never before noticed just how irritating that could be.

Draco looked up and realised he had missed something. Harry’s hand was resting on Adam’s shoulder, and though Potter clearly couldn’t see Adam’s face, Draco had full view of it.

Its was smirking, self-satisfied. 

Then it saw Draco watching and winked. How horrific.

He couldn’t let Potter go out on the town with this cad, surely.

The interloper clearly had roguish intentions, and, Draco knew, Potter wasn’t the sort that one should be focusing one’s roguish intentions on. 

Not Potter, who hadn’t dated anyone in the entire time Draco had worked with him. Not Potter, who bought people coffee. Not Potter, who spent half of his time caring for a stupid, pretty baby that didn’t even technically belong to him. 

Not Potter. 

Draco took a moment to assure himself that he was only being a conscientious pal, looking out for his friend. These new found worries were the result of mingling with Puffs surely.

“Well, I guess we should be off.” said Potter, completely guilelessly.

“Sounds good.” said Adam, smiling again. “After you, Harry.”

He held the door open, and Potter waved at Draco once before exiting pliantly.

Adam lingered for a moment before smirking knowingly at Draco and following after Potter. 

“I am deeply uncomfortable.” said Draco to the empty office.

The office didn’t reply.

 

It seemed to Draco, in the weeks that followed, that that first day with Adam in the office had been nothing more than an ugly pre-cursor to the events that would soon follow. And indeed, things soon boiled over to such a point that Draco couldn’t help but exclaim.

“I’m thinking about dating Enrique again.”

“Isn’t that the guy who dumped you?” asked Adam.

“Shut it, Australia. And no, we were on a break.” he directed the last part to Potter.

“I thought he broke your heart or something.” Potter said boredly. 

“Yes, well.” replied Draco. He did not know how he had planned this conversation, but it wasn’t following per course. “Enrique is terribly romantic, you know? And I just adore romance. Romance is classy, vastly appealing. He’s graceful too-”

“No one cares, Malfoy.” snapped Potter. “Get back with him if you want, it’s certainly not my concern.”

“Potter, this is outrageous!”

Potter cut him off with a scowl. “We have work to do now,” he began. “You can do the fieldwork today, I know how much you love that. I’m going to show Adam how to file a report.”

Draco grimaced. “Fine.”

“Fine.” Potter said.

“Fine!” agreed Adam enthusiastically.

After that, it seemed like almost everything was about Adam.

Administration wanted to know if there was room in the department for Adam to stay on permanently.

Weasel wanted to know if Adam could come for drinks.

At least half a dozen fool hardy witches wanted to know if Adam was single, Draco had barely been able to resist viciously biting out that Adam was obviously not interested. 

In witches anyway, the truth was he was showing a far more disturbing interest in Potter of all people. 

Draco wasn’t naive, he’d recognised that salacious wink for what it was, a trade-mark obnoxious gesture from a trade-mark callous, good-for-nothing scoundrel. But still, the fervor with which Adam had pursued Potter since then was perturbing to say the least.

There were fresh flowers on Potter’s desk almost every day of the week, chocolate was appearing in the most unusual places, and the casual touches, well, they had not been few. 

Worst of all, Potter seemed to be falling for the tacky gimmickry. 

It went right against Draco’s expectations, Potter’s apparent reciprocation was completely opposed to all of Draco’s pre-conceived notions of what Potter might find appealing in a partner. 

He had thought that Potter didn’t go in for show-ponies, and indeed, Potter’s usual reaction to flowers and chocolates was contempt and a well aimed burning charm. 

Adam, the rat bastard, seemed to have been intelligent enough to recognise this, and had somehow disguised his own showiness beneath a guise of faux-subtlety.

To put it simply, he was gifting the gifts ‘anonymously’, all the while, making it obvious that he was the one, in all actuality, gifting the gifts.

It was slytherin behaviour to a tee.

And Potter was just eating it up.

Meanwhile, Draco watched on from the desk opposite with growing contempt. 

“Say, Potter.” he said one day. “Abbott’s at seven?”

Potter looked away awkwardly, and Draco couldn’t help but notice how his eyes had flickered, for a brief moment, over to Adam’s desk. 

“Sorry, Malfoy.”

He was having one of those friendly meetings with Adam then, well, that was fine, as long as-

“Adam has asked me on a date.” Potter said, looking pleased. 

Not even Potter’s friendly smile could stop the wave of bitterness that crashed through Draco in that moment. 

Who was this Adam anyhow? To come waltzing into Draco’s life, interrupting his routine, and bickering with Weasel, and stealing his Po- friend. Stealing his friend, yes, that sounded appropriately platonic.

Right arse-hole that Adam. 

“Oh,” said Draco pleasantly. “That sounds very good. Where are you heading?”

Potter grinned. “Appleby’s.”

“Moving up in the world, Potter. Very fancy dining.”

“Oh,” said Potter, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t realise. Do you think I should wear robes?”

Draco considered telling him no for a moment, gleefully imagining a scenario in which Potter arrived to the restaurant under-dressed and Adam rejected him cruelly, leaving Potter to run crying into Draco’s welcoming- well, Potter probably wouldn’t cry, he didn’t seem the sort. 

“Wear that black number you got from Andromeda last christmas,” Draco advised. “It will do nicely.” 

“Thanks, Draco.” Potter said with a relieved smile. “Sorry, I’m a bit nervous, haven't really gone on a date since Ginny.”

“Well, it’s like riding a broomstick, Potter. Muscle memory and whatnot. I’m sure you’ll do fine.” 

Liar! You’re lying! The voice in the back of Draco’s mind screamed. The fallacy! The falsehood! You know he’s not going to be fine, that evil wretch is intending to defile him!

“I hope you have... fun.” added Draco stiffly.

Potter smiled at him guilelessly, green eyes gleamy, cheek dimply, face all, innocenty. No doubt about it, Potter would probably die this night.

But not if he could stop things, Draco thought mind dawning with the seeds of a good idea. 

Not if Draco just... supervised, only for a little bit. Just to make sure that Adam wasn’t harbouring any nefarious schemes as yet unknown to Draco. 

“I’m almost certain we will,” said Potter. “Adam is a real stand-up gent.”

Draco nodded. They would see. 

 

It wasn’t difficult for Draco to grease his way into the department of contraband storage and weasel himself some glamor-dust. It was however, quite the feat wrangling himself a reservation at Appleby’s. 

In the end, the favours owed were worth it, and by six thirty he had rubbed enough of the dust into his face that his features had transformed completely, and he was seated directly across from table seventeen, where the waiter had told him the Potter reservation was set.

All that was left to do was wait.

 

At seven on the dot, Adam arrived with Potter on his arm. So far so chivalrous, Draco mused, but he himself had pulled those moves before, if Adam was anything like Draco, then things were liable to become improper at any time. He kept his eyes hawk-like, sharpish.

The entree came out first, and Draco was subjected to a horrid half hour of watching the two of them flirt up a storm. Adam pulled every trick in the book; cheap jokes, french talk over the wine, a careful caress of the ankle. Draco’s eyes near rolled out of his head and across the floor when Adam had the sheer gall to brush an eyelash from Potter’s cheek.

Draco’s only consolation was that even Potter seemed to see through that one, smiling wryly and raising an eye brow.

The flirty waiter, whom had disclosed the correct table number to Draco earlier, took their orders. Draco strained his ears to hear Adam order a lasagna, and Potter order a caesar salad with ravioli. 

It happened halfway through the meal. In all honesty, Draco’s attention had drifted and he’d been playing Hang-Mudblood against himself on his napkin. Movement out of the corner of his eye alerted him to change. Potter was excusing himself to the bathroom. Adam, the curly haired lech, was watching him leave, appreciatively. 

Draco frowned. Then the waiter approached table seventeen, and Draco frowned harder. 

What was Adam doing? Why was he bothering to make jokes? Why was his ankle- oh. Oh no. That utter imbecile. That moronic, undeserving prick. 

He felt his face quickly, the dust hadn’t worn off yet. 

He approached slowly, giving the two plenty of time to exchange numbers. 

Gods, he had known something terrible was going to happen, he had felt it in his bones that Australia was a rotten egg. And here was the proof, right in the pudding. 

He stepped up, next to the blushing waiter. 

“You utter imbecile.” said Draco coldly. 

Adam turned away from the waiter to look at him, his eyes widened minutely.

“You have no idea what it is you’re turning down.” Draco said.

There must have been something in his face or eyes, because Adam peered at him with slowly dawning recognition. 

“I’m not turning anything down, Malfoy.” said Adam. “I’m just keeping my options open.” 

“No. I won’t allow it. You piss off quickly, and don’t fuck around with people whose boots you aren’t fit to lick the dirt from.”

Adam laughed.

“You never liked me.” Adam said smiling. “And maybe he’s oblivious, but I know why. You are one jealous cunt, Draco Malfoy. I’d laugh if it weren’t so bloody pathetic.”

“Gods, you’re a prick. I can’t see how he stands you.” said Draco.

“Ditto.” replied Adam. “I can’t see how you think you’d stand a chance.”

Draco’s hands shook.

“Just stay away, Australia. If you know what’s good for you, you won’t come near Harry anymore.” Draco said, straightening.

“Ya reckon?” said Adam, grinning toothily and stepping forward. “Who’s gunna stop me then?” he punctuated the question with a shove to Draco’s chest. 

Draco growled, and pushed back. Adam stumbled, and stared at him shocked, before blinking once, smirking, and pushing back harder. 

But Draco had been one of the best in their physical training, he knew how to take a blow, and he didn’t go down with it, instead, he slammed his left palm into Adam’s shoulder with enough force that the man fell back, and landed on his arse. 

Draco laughed once, but was cut off when Adam swung his legs around to catch Draco ankles and trip him over, it devolved from there, both of them rolling about, scuffling, scratching, scrapping like wild dogs. 

He could hear people whispering, but nothing felt so satisfying as sinking a victorious fist into the bastards stomach. Less satisfying was said bastards knee in his groin. 

“Draco!” he heard Potter exclaim. 

Bloody buggering fuck. 

He turned to look up, but Adam used his distraction to his advantage and pulled Draco’s hair, slamming his head against the ground. 

“Ow!” Draco groaned. 

“That’s it.” said Potter, he stormed over and grabbed both of them by the collar.

Draco vaguely acknowledged the tug in his navel that signified an apparition, before he clasped his stomach and wretched somewhere between the restaurant’s carpet and a concrete pavement. 

 

“I can’t believe you!” said Potter, quickly letting go of both of them and stepping back. Draco looked up and around, they were outside the front of Harry’s house. 

He jumped to his feet.

“But Potter!” he said.

“What!?” Potter replied. 

“He wants to have his wicked way with you!”

“I know that!” yelled Potter.

“You know that?” cried Adam, wiping a small trickle of blood from his mouth.

“I’m hardly as oblivious as you seem to think, Adam.” Potter interjected. “Episkey.”

There was a crack as Adam’s nose realigned itself.

“Are you saying this whole exercise has been a waste, I thought for sure you’d want the romance and the-” 

He paused. Potter’s face had gone cold. “Are you suggesting that this farce of a date was embarked on, with the sole purpose of me getting you off?” 

“Well,” sputtered Adam. “I mean- I thought that. Maybe.”

“You utter cock. Get out of my sight before I blow a hole through your worthless prick.” said Draco, brandishing his wand.

Adam paled, and disappeared with a crack. 

“You,” Potter whirled on him. “He was mostly a stranger so it’s... embarrassing, but you. I can’t believe you.” he turned to leave, and Draco could not have that, so.

“I was only trying to protect you. I thought-”

“I don’t need protecting, Malfoy!” Potter exclaimed. “I’m a grown man, I can take care of myself, I always have. How dare you presume.” 

“I wasn’t-”

“No, you weren’t.” interrupted Harry. “Please just go.”

“No, Potter, Harry, please. I’m only trying to-”

“Help?” Potter laughed bitterly. “Oh, that’s well rich.”

“What? What’s rich about it? I was just trying to-”

“Help, yes, I know.” Potter said. “And by help, I suppose you mean you wanted to prevent Adam from engaging me in a... what do you call it... A Br-”

“A brief affair.” Draco gritted out. “Just face it, you’re the boyfriend type.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Potter pointed out. “And grossly hypocritical. I’ve watched you change lovers faster than you change clothes, Malfoy. And I’ve not interfered with your business, I don’t see what concern it is of yours the one time I decide I might like to have some fun with an interesting person.”

“But,” Draco argued uselessly. “But, I was right! He was using you.”

“That’s not the point.” Harry said. “You’re supposed to be my friend. That means not being a prick to the people I choose to date. No matter your personal opinion of them.” Potter sighed wearily and rubbed at his eyes. “I was never rude to Enrique, and he was certainly awful enough to warrant it at times.”

“Look, Potter. I did what I thought was right at the time. I’m not apologising.” said Draco indignantly.

He took in the wounded look upon Potter’s face and felt the first seeds of doubt creeping in. The look was quickly masked and Potter stared at him blankly.

“Fine.” said Potter.

“Fine.” replied Draco.

Potter gave him one single disgusted look, then turned and fled up the steps into his house, slamming the door behind him. 

Draco apparated away, and fell into bed frustratedly. He fisted the sheets in his hand and exhaled. He was so, so confused.

 

The next few days in the office were... stilted at best, and icy at worst. 

Out of mutual but unacknowledged camaraderie they had silently agreed that Adam would be filling out files for the remainder of his stay, and so once again Harry was accompanying Draco out of the office. 

That didn’t mean however, that he wasn’t cross. 

Potter had not been ignoring Draco. No, instead he had become almost unbearably polite, and excruciatingly distant.

Draco had thought that things had been terrible before, when Harry had been interested in Adam, but now, things were positively arctic. 

At least in the past few weeks Potter had still been inclined to bring him coffee, and invite him places, and talk to him. Now? Nothing bar ‘Thankyou, Auror Malfoy’s.” and “Yes, Auror Malfoy will deal with that for you’s.” 

“I think you should talk to him.” said Granger one day, in an inter-departmental memo. “He’s been sulking for an age and won’t come round for Thursday Dinner.”

Weasel even punched his shoulder one day, awkwardly announcing. “You’re not a complete git, Malfoy. Uhh, communication is key? Hermione says that.”

Pansy, who was rather less sensitive than either of Potter’s friends, had rolled her eyes and grimaced at him. “Well it’s completely obvious, dear. Your man-whoring ways were simply a psychological response to what has so far been a long and horribly dissatisfying obsession with Potter.” she tucked her hair behind her ear daintily. “You’re in love with him, you dolt. The only part that’s been missing is the fucking.”

“You’re so vulgar. And psychology is wishy-washy.” he’d replied. 

Still, it had been something to think about. 

Perhaps most pertinent, had been Luna’s words coming back to him:

It is easy to find things when we stop looking for them.

The moment he had stopped looking for whatever in the random men he had been dating previously, he had sort of realised that he had at least a chance at whatever that sat across from him in the office every day. 

It had simply taken the chance landing in some jeopardy that had made him realise.

He spent a lot of time thinking about things then, thinking about how Potter always bought him coffee in the mornings, and how Potter always listened, if somewhat apathetically, to him whining about everything, and how Potter was actually a very handsome sort of bloke, and kind, and brave, and dimply, and sometimes a little brash, and sometimes a little unintentionally rude but ultimately... lovely. 

Things had never seemed so simple before.

The next morning, on his way to work, Draco stopped at a coffee-shop. The best olive branches were caffeinated, and came with scones. 

“What’s this?” asked Potter suspiciously when Draco plonked his purchases on his desk. 

Draco said nothing, and returned to his desk. 

The next day, the same routine. 

“Thankyou.” said Potter tightly. 

Draco smiled. They would have to talk about it eventually, but for now, breakfast foods were the way. 

“Do you want some?” Potter asked on the third day, as he cut his scone in half. 

They ate together in silence, and everything was going to be okay. 

On the fourth day, Draco realised that patience wasn’t for him and likely never would be. 

“Can we talk?” he said. “Alone?”

Potter looked up from his parchment work and nodded. “After work?”

Draco smiled. “My place, if that’s okay.”

He’d rather Potter leave in a strop than be kicked out from somewhere. If things went badly.

He fidgets in his seat for the rest of the day, and if the way Potter keeps casting a tempus every five minutes is any indication, then he’s feeling the tension too. 

Finally, around ten minutes before their shift ends, Potter looked at him and said. “Bugger it. D’you wanna go?”

Draco nodded, and stood. Grabbing his cloak from the hook and following Potter out of the department, they leg it to the floo room and it’s not long before the both of them are sitting across from each other in Draco’s living space, pretending not to stare at each other, and not saying a thing. 

“Should I start...” Draco said at the same time as Potter asked how things were going with Enrique.

“What?” Draco laughed. “Enrique?”

Potter looked uncomfortable, and shifted. “You said you were dating him again, the other day.”

“Oh,” said Draco, remembering. “I lied.”

Potter stared at him. “Why?”

Draco bundled up as much courage as he could, and then in one wretchedly gryffindorish display of honesty, blurted out a home truth that Pansy said he had been repressing for years.

“I was jealous.”

Potter’s expression of shock is almost comical. “What?”

“I was jealous.”

“I heard you, I just, why?” Potter asked, dark brows furrowed. 

“It occurred to me,” Draco began. “Sometime during your misadvised dalliance with the Australian, that I might, or might not’ve, been carrying a semi-lit torch for... you. Bear in mind, semi-lit.”

Potter rolled his eyes. “You like me, you dolt.”

“Well, I wouldn’t phrase it exactly like that, I just-”

“Gods, that’s why you’ve been acting like a right awkward lunatic. You idiot. To think,” Potter muttered, shaking his head incredulously. "All these years I simply had to go on a date, you mad man."

“Oh, don’t hold back, tell me how you really feel, Potter.” Draco snapped, sarcasm colouring his tone.

Potter looked at him with wide eyes. “I’m still bloody mad at you, Draco. Don't push it. Trust me when I say that I don’t need you rushing in on your sanctimonious white horse, like I’m some sort of skirt.”

“Hey now,” quipped Draco. “Don’t insult the skirts.”

Potter rolled his eyes.

“But, because it seems that your intentions were,” he paused a struggled for the right word. “Somewhat pure, I’m just going to say that, I also might have been carrying a torch around, for you, just that it’s well, more than semi-lit really, bloody attached to a kerosine filter more like.”

Draco doesn’t quite know what that means, but it sounds good. 

“Potter,” he said slowly. “Do you like me?” 

Potter looked quite grumpy about it, but he nodded. “For a while.”

“Oh,” said Draco, thinking about how Potter never dated. “That’s good.”

He was in sort of familiar terrain now, then again, with Potter nothing could be certain.

“Do you think that we-”

Potter huffed, exasperated. “Shut it, Draco. We can argue later.” he said, before standing up, crossing the room and sitting down next to Draco.

“Hullo.” he said, awfully close.

Draco could smell his soap. 

“Hullo.” he replied.

Potter’s eyes were terribly green, and Merlin, his lips were horribly pink, and by the gods! Deplorably attached to his. 

He grasped the back of Potter’s neck tightly and pulled him closer, they smacked foreheads, and Draco let the kiss end slowly with a grin.

“Hey, Potter.”

“Mmph, what?”

“I’m probably going to defile you.”

Potter laughed, and kissed his neck sloppily. 

“That’s good, Malfoy. I’m probably going to defile you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the characters or settings. Thankyou very much for reading, I very much enjoyed writing this story.


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